The Air Mobile Infantry
by vise
Summary: This is a story of a military unit, from basic to burial, and is good for halo fans, war story fans, anybody! Please RR and give me your honest opinion, flames welcome, thanks
1. It begins

Birds of Prey

Prelude:

Humanity is now at war. And for the first time in our history, our very species is at stake, our continued existence. Humanity is united, but even though we have put aside our differences, and fought, and died, as hard as humanly possible, they keep coming. But the truth of the matter is that we're losing. And even though we are being pushed back, our boys on the front are pushing back as well.

The Marines, Rangers, and Guardsmen are maintaining an amazing co-ordination and cohesion in the face of such a ferocious enemy. We must do our part at home to support our brave fighters. All the factories in UNSC space are making more guns, more tanks, fighters, bombers, grenades, and ammunition to help provide our boys with the tools they need to push back the Covenant bastards!

We may be pushed back! We may be ambushed! We may be defeated! We may be even routed! But we will never, ever, give up! Why? Because we are the Human Race! We are tough! We are adaptable! And in the end, we will be victorious!

Admiral Jeffrey Athenson's speech to the UNSC Defence Council.


	2. Welcome to Reach

Chapter One:

The Big Horn River was not a popular swimming site, and for good reason. In fact, a rumour has it that an off-duty Marine who was taking laps in it was thrown in the brig to wait for psychological evaluation. But the new cadets struggling to stave off hypothermia in the frigid waters would have welcomed a nice, 'warm', brig cell.

"Swim you maggots," Shouted a darkly tanned Marine Major. "How can you expect to be soldiers if you can't even stand a little dip?" The Major laughed.

After six minutes in the sub-zero water the Major let the trainees get out of the river. They dragged themselves onto the side, most of them fighting unconsciousness.

"Cadets, get back to the barracks, warm up, and get your boots on," The major eyes glinted darkly. "We're going for a run."

There would have been a chorus of swearing and muttered oaths about the Major's mother if the trainees hadn't been fighting for breath.

If this sounds like a death camp, that's pretty close. This is the UNSC Infantry Basic Training Camp on the fortress world Reach.

Somehow the trainees got back to the barracks, and it was 'democratically agreed' that the fittest guys were taking the first showers. The threat of 'mutilation' and 'bodily harm' somewhat helped along the decision.

The cadets where mostly ready when the Major entered the bunkhouse and barked out, "Trainees, form up, let's go, anybody not right behind through the whole run goes home, with a little gift from each of your fellow wannabe's."

Some of the guy's, the ones who were the last to hit the showers, were only halfway through lacing their boots, but their determination showed through when they simply pulled off their boots and set off barefoot.

The run was around the camp's perimeter, through the thick Douglas fir timberland, and then a final sprint down the airfield. The cadets legs were already shaking from the river's cold, and they were soon fatigued to the point of collapse. The barefooted runners really suffered, especially through the woodland, as the Major ran them through bush and bramble.

Two of the cadets distinguished themselves in the run. Tim Dickens, an eighteen-year-old from Earth, and Ricky Carmine, a small little teen off Quarry, an iron mining station. They kept astride of the Major through the whole run, Tim from natural ability and amazing stamina, and Ricky from sheer determination, he was barefoot, and at the end he had blisters the size of grapes.

This was the trainees first day on Reach. As you'd have already figured, the UNSC was anxious to get tough-as-nails troops out to the frontline to combat the new, disturbing alien threat.

After the run the cadets gathered in the off-duty lounge, to get acquainted and get a much-needed drink. Ricky sat at the bar by himself, nursing a tumbler of scotch. By civilian law, Ricky would have been prosecuted for underage drinking, seeing as how he was only sixteen. But there was certain perks for being a soon-to-be UNSC soldier.

A flight cadet with the shoulder badge Rammis walked up to the bar.

"Bartender, whiskey, neat, double." The flyer took the stool next to Ricky.

Rammis happened to glance at the infantrymen's feet, and seeing the multitude of scratches, scrapes, and horribly big blisters, he gave a low whistle.

"I thought you ground sloggers were supposed to take care of their feet, being that their your only way to get around." He smiled.

Ricky looked at him, a smile of his own spreading. Deep down he was really happy to have the companionship.

"And I thought you flyboys were to high in the clouds to visit a infantrymen's bar," he shot back.

"Good point," he put out his hand. "The name's Mark."

Ricky clasped it in a solid shake.

"Name's Ricky, and I've got to say you're the most non stuck-up flyboy I've met so far."

Mark accepted his whiskey from the bartender, taking a deep swill, and letting the high-alcohol, low-quality liquor burn it's way to his stomach. It had been a hard day's flying, doing a ground-hugger run through the Cascade Ravines.

"Thanks," he said. "I guess."

Ricky gave a grin.

"Well, besides the freighter pilot on the way here, you're the first one I've met." Mark laughed.

"Well I'll just make myself worthy of the compliment."

Rammis took another swig of his whiskey.

"So how long you been in this hell hole?"

Ricky laughed. "Would you believe nine hours?"


	3. Exercises

Chapter Two:

Dawn broke early and fast on Reach, and it was a basic training tradition to be up and on morning 'jog' a good half hour before it. It was also a B.T. tradition to 'mix it up a little'. The recruits, all with footwear this time, were halfway through sprint training when a Pelican roared a mere thirty meters overhead on full burn. Let's just say the recruits were 'mildly surprised'.

The Pelican, expertly piloted, swung one-hundred-eighty degrees, and, with landing jets maxed, gently set down fifty meters away from the recruits.

Gunnery Sergeant Lawrence hopped out of the dropship and walked to the front.

"Mount up recruits, look alive!"

The cadets looked at each other in momentary confusion, but then started jogging to the ship. At least they got a ride.

"You are to be split into two teams, Grey and Gold," the sergeant was saying.

"Grey will be on defence, Gold offence. "You'll be either defending or trying to ex-filtrate the flag. You will be stationed in the Catskill Forest, and this exercise will be a test of your covert ops skills, survival instincts, and ingenuity."

He lifted the lid of the gear box at his feet and pulled out a M6E Riot Pistol. The sidearm was modified to fire low-velocity, tranqualizing, rubber composite ammunition.

"Each of you will be issued with one of these, and also," He pulled out a long-barrelled sniper rifle. "One of these per team."

The Sergeant braced himself as the Pelican started the landing sequence. As the ship gently set down the recruits disembarked one by one, each grabbing a pistol, five clips, a k-bar combat knife, and a beret, either grey or gold as they got off. As well as the basic equipment each team where given food for two days and one modified sniper rifle.

The two teams mustered in different corners of the clearing; gathering around the rifle like it was their holy grail. After a few minutes the Sergeant took the Grey team off through the forest, and Gold team was left to find a good staging point.

"Golds, listen up," Said Timmy. "Now how would we like to have another sniper?"

The team looked confused, and there was a few mutterings of, 'what is he on?'

"I'll follow after Grey and when a chance presents itself I'll nab it."

Ricky spoke up. "Hey, I'm all for it, Tim, make it happen."

Dickens smiled, and set off.

One of the Golds chuckled. "Crazy s.o.b."

Jenna Lance, the only female in the group of recruits, spoke up, taking charge of the guys.

"Move out, let's find a good staging point," Jenna pretended not to notice the whispered comments about a woman soldier, but she did.

Tim was a swift, shadowy wraith ghosting from tree to tree, only a stones throw away from the Grey's. He spotted the recruit toting the rifle, he didn't look to alert, that would make things easier. But the question was how to get him away from the group?

An idea came to him, and so did a devilish smile.

The staging point was coming along nicely. It was to be a place to wait, and more importantly, place to possibly fall back to if things went sour.

Logs, dead brush, and rough palisades were erected, along with a large hut to stave off any bad weather. Now all there was to do was what for that crazy recruit to get back, hopefully with a large increase to their armory.

Three of the more charismatic recruits started making tentative plans. Jenna, Ricky, and the spunky Jim Harris from New Houston slid very easily into the roles of leadership.

They were starting to form a very ingenious plan when the irrepressible scoundrel Tim appeared outside the 'battlements.'

"Permission to enter the great golden fortress oh masters of the universe."

Jenna strode to the entryway.

"That depends if you return victorious or vanquished," she said, but smiled when she saw the rifle slung across his shoulders.

"Good job, Tim," she said, smiling now. "Come on in to our humble abode."

Tim was pleasantly surprised as he entered the stockade. All the gold team members were breaking apart pistols, checking the barrels, cleaning clips, and getting used to the feel of the weapon, things you'd expect a trained, well-acquainted platoon to do.

He followed Jenna to the 'command hut'. Stepping through the door he saw Ricky and Jim drawing plan outlines on the ground with a stick, and to think humanity was now able to travel between stars!

Leaning the rifle against the wall he took a look at the squiggles and lines and lines. He didn't get it.

Ricky looked up from the battle plan, and seeing the rifle, gave Tim a grin.

"So how did you pull it off?"

Tim smiled, it had been fun.

"I followed the grey column, and halfway to the base," Tim paused, grinning. "I shot the Sarge in the neck."

Jim dropped the stick.

"You what!" said Jim, open-mouthed.

"Then I lobbed a couple acorns ahead to make it sound like I was running. The greys left the sniper behind for support, and then rushed after my 'phantom shooter.' Then all I had to do was sneak up, press my pistol to his throat, drag him off the trail, tie him up with some vines, and leave him with a little less luggage."

Ricky shook his head in surprise.

"Well done, mind if I have a go with your prize?"

"Go ahead, but don't miss, alright?"

Ricky picked up the rifle gingerly, almost tenderly.

"This baby will definitely come in handy alright," Ricky put the rifle to his shoulder, trying out the scope. "I like this, I really like this."

Jim shook his head.

"Back to planning, Rick," Ricky leant the rifle back in obvious sadness.

"Let's take those dopy grey fools down."

Grey Base was quite a large building, being actually a two-story bunker. Sergeant Lawrence had intended only to lead the team to the base, but the massive bruise at the base of his neck, and resulting migraine, had him at the base for a little longer than he planned.

The Greys were split into three groups, one, consisting of sixteen, was dispersed in pairs through the woods as pickets. The second was three groups of four who were patrolling the base clearing. And the remaining recruits, including the disgraced and humiliated de-rifled sniper who had been saved from his predicament in the forest, were in and on the bunker, standing as the last line of defence.

It was getting late in the afternoon, and the sun was only about fifteen minutes away from setting. The defenders were nervous, it seemed that an attack would be imminent, this would be last chance for a daylight strike. A night attack was almost utterly implausible, as the base had floodlights.

In the picket line two greys, Trainees Rush and Cameron, were the first to make contact with the gold's. They were quietly talking when a narq dart suddenly embedded itself into the base of their neck, they fell without even a moan.

Dragging the sentries back into the forest away, Tim got back in position to ambush the next set of pickets.

After a half-an-hour all the pickets were piled in an unconscious heap, and Tim snuck off to give Ricky the all clear.

Ricky was perched in a little snipers lean-to of ferns and twigs. When Tim noiselessly stuck his head into it, he got a pistol pointed right at his face.

"Good," said a grinning Tim. "If you were napping I'd have given you hell."

Ricky sighted again through his scope, dialing in the distance.

"Go tell Harris that we're starting in five, and hurry."

Tim sprinted off again.

'Crack', a rifle boomed. One of the grey sentries who had been walking on the roof fell in a heap, forcefully sent to the land of nod for half-a-day courtesy of the sniper's narq-darts. A second shot followed, and a third. Ricky and Harris hammered them from both sides, keeping them on their toes, and really making the grey's sorry for their loss of their sniper.

The attack squad moved into the clearing. It consisted of six gold's, in pairs with one in front acting as shield for the dual-pistol wielding shooters. The grey's saw the squad and the bulk of their conscious members got into their dugouts and behind the low earthen walls to meet them, putting round after round into the shielders, who, to their surprise, just kept on walking, although they did stagger with the impacts, their concealed bark breastplates shielding from them from the numbing agent, not the force of the round.

Grey's tumbled from the roofs as there bodies went numb with bullet impacts. The main force of defenders rushed towards the commotion, trying to get a feel for the situation.

The Gold snipers did superbly, incapacitating over ten Grey's before they ran out of ammo, having only two four-round clips each.

The Grey's were starting to finally get organised, using the bunker crenulations, their own dug defences, and doorways for cover.

That's when the Gold's sprung their plan. The main force attacked from the woods in the opposite direction of the distraction force. This caused the Grey's to either turn and get shot in the back by the first group, or stay facing them and get shot by the second. And just when they effectively halved their force, the two snipers with pistols in hand left the woods from the sides, using their remarkable marksmanship to easily pick off the defenders to far from the bunker to dive in for cover.

The Grey's, realising how deep they were, abandoned the shooters who were already down and retreated into the heart of the bunker.

But the Gold's had planned on this. One of the recruits came out of the woods carrying a large layered shield of bark with three holes, just large enough for a pistol muzzle, poked in it.

The second group took the 'shield' and advanced on the door, ready to make the Grey's flush out or knocked out. The second group, reinforced by the pair of sniper's, covered the back door, ready to catch any rats fleeing the ship in an iron mousetrap.

The Grey's were pushed back through the building to their very flag holder, leaving several unconscious comrades in the hallway to obstruct the enemy's path. One of the defender's looked back for a moment, and swore. The flag was gone!

The Grey's turned, and in an amazing blaze of determination, seeing the absence of their flag, they charged the shield.

Bulling their way through the corridor, trampling, jostling, and crashing through the stunned Gold team, they got out into the open. They whirled around, looking for the flag-bearer, only to see it waving mockingly from the top of a tall nearby tree.


End file.
